


Stick With Me

by KissTheBoy7



Category: Chess - Rice/Ulvaeus/Andersson
Genre: F/M, Sexual Content, freddie is gay and florence is okay with that, queer!freddie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:46:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissTheBoy7/pseuds/KissTheBoy7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Freddie Trumper and Florence Vassy make the most unconventional of couples.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stick With Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [onelessvariation](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onelessvariation/gifts).



> I really love the angst potential for this pairing. Um. Freddie is "most likely" canonically queer, according to Tim Rice. (not that I can find the damn source for that but I swear he said it) So. There you go.

Freddie groans, muffled, bitten nails scraping desperately on the pillowcase as he clutches it to his face. Over his shoulder, Florence peers down in fond exasperation. Her hand twists and Freddie lifts his hips, breath hitching – she sighs. “You know, it’s Friday night. You could always go out and find yourself a nice date to do this for you.”

“You are my date,” he mewls, petulant and pressing insistently back on her fingers. It’s not as though the majority of Freddie’s Friday nights are spent with his ass in the air like this, begging Florence to  _fuck him_ even though he knows she’s not going to.

It’s almost pathetic, but then, going to a club would be even worse.

She chews her lip and curls her fingers down in a practiced motion, stroking his hip softly with her free hand, drawing a breathy noise from the quivering man below. “Freddie…”

“Skip the lecture and-” His eyes stretch wide, jerking up onto his hands as Florence rubs gently, teasingly against his prostate. “F- _uck,_ Jesus Christ, Florence!” His back dips and curves, skinny frame shuddering. Somehow he still manages to be petulant. “Let me talk…”

She tries not to roll her eyes. She really does. She tries not to reach down and do herself a favor, either, reminding herself that  _this is about Freddie_ and she’ll get her turn, if she’s patient. It’s not ideal but it works for them. Freddie can be romantic when he wants to be; Freddie can be a fucking firecracker in bed when he wants to be. She just has to give him what he wants to wind him up first.

“You’re so mouthy.” She smiles instead, tapping his ass and jabbing her fingers, four of them now, down against that spot. He positively spits, scrabbling at his pillow and pressing back with a whimper that does things to Florence’s inner smugness.

“You love my mouth,” he groans, biting on the pillow. About a dozen horribly offensive jokes rise to her lips and she chokes them back along with a completely inappropriate giggle. Freddie’s sexuality is something they absolutely Do Not Talk About.

“I do love you, Freddie. I just think you need to get out more.” She strokes at the inside of him, feeling him writhe directly in response; it’s hard not to wonder at times like these what it would be like, Freddie pressed up against her, between her legs, making that face and these noises as he fills her. It’s hard but she has to refrain, or she’s only going to be horribly disappointed. As always. “You could try that place down on-”

“I don’t want to- oh  _God,”_ and he’s practically sobbing as she sets to fucking him, really fucking him with her fingers like he’s been begging for for the past hour and a half, squirming and complaining and whining until she brings him to the brink without even touching his cock.

It goes like this, with the two of them. They touch and kiss and love – Florence thinks she loves him so much she could go crazy, and does, because Freddie could drive any perfectly sane person to madness – but never the way she wants to. Because Freddie loves her, but he can never make love to her. He’s not going to. He’s not going to pretend, and she’s not, either. They don’t have to – it  _works._

It works, for them.

After this Freddie will turn over, and press her back, and mouth up her thighs and suck between her legs until she screams for him, fingers tight in his hair; and they’ll lie there, tangled together but not touching, just breathing in tandem until Florence can muster the energy to sit up and collect the sheets and Freddie will make coffee for both of them, almost too sugary to stomach.

It works tonight, and it will work next Friday, too.

But Florence has to wonder about what will happen the day Freddie finally takes her advice. 


End file.
